


Hjarta

by HysteriaLevi



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HysteriaLevi/pseuds/HysteriaLevi
Summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.
Relationships: Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson, Male Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue

**NORWAY, 857 AD**

**THE COAST OF RYGJAFYLKE**

_“We are all bound by the threads of fate,”_ the clan’s seeress once told Eivor. _“Any attempt to deviate from the path will simply be met with what was always destined to be. It is who we are. It is what we must accept. Even the gods are not free from this truth.”_

And yet, Eivor couldn’t help but question her.

As he stood on the shore, watching the ocean’s foamy waves slowly pull back and forth into the sea, he wondered if this was _truly_ what the gods intended.

Did the gods really deem it necessary for his father to die? Did they see a use in killing his mother? What could they have gained from tearing a child away from his parents?

The völva of their clan, Ingrida, always insisted that the Nornir had a set path for everyone in this world, and yet... Eivor felt more out of place than ever before.

Bjornheimr wasn’t his home. Arngeir wasn’t his father. Randvi and Thora weren’t his sisters. This wasn’t where he belonged.

His home lay beyond the icy mountains that towered over the distant horizon, buried underneath a tombstone of ash and rubble. His family awaited him in the forsaken depths of Helheim, and remained entangled in the jaws of Nidhogg the serpent.

But despite his parents’ demise, it seemed that the gods had a different plan for Eivor himself. When the rest of his clan fell to Kjotve’s axe, Thora rescued him from the flames. Like a savior sent by the divines, she whisked him away on a horse and brought him to safety, making him the sole survivor of that night’s attack.

He was still here for a reason -- his miraculous recovery was enough to proof that -- but he just didn’t know why.

He only wished the gods would tell him.

“Why did you let Kjotve kill you, father?” Eivor whispered, gazing down at the worn axe in his hands as flakes of snow fluttered onto its cold surface. “We are warriors. We are _destined_ for Valhalla; you said it yourself. So why did you do it...?”

The boy’s grip tightened in anger, and he brought his eyes to the ocean in front of him.

“...You left me.” He muttered, his tone sharp with betrayal. “You died as a coward, and you left me alone. You went against everything you taught me, and let go of your honor when you should’ve been defending it.”

Eivor took one last glance at the axe, preparing to raise it in the air. “...Well, as far as I’m concerned, your axe can join you in Hel.”

Throwing his arm forward, the boy hurled the weapon into the restless embrace of the sea and let out a frustrated shout, only to be interrupted when someone suddenly grabbed his wrist.

He whirled his head towards the intruder with a quick jolt and glared at them in bewilderment, confused as to who would be all the way out here with him.

When his eyes landed on their face though, it all made sense.

“Ulfar...?” Eivor murmured in surprise. He wiggled his arm, attempting to break free. “Let me go...!”

The man only strengthened his hold more, trying to calm the boy down.

“Easy, little _drengr.”_ Ulfar soothed, his voice straining with effort. “You are hurting. But this is _not_ something you want to forget.”

Eivor tore his wrist from the man’s grip and turned away from him, ignoring his previous statement.

Ulfar was a close friend of Arngeir’s and served their clan as both a raider and advisor, resulting in a rather paternal relationship between him and the jarl’s children. He originally roamed Norway’s waters as a Jomsviking, but finally dropped the lifestyle when he fell in love with a woman from their clan.

He bore the look of a weathered warrior, and displayed many scars across his body. One of the man’s eyes had been rendered blind due to a deep sword wound that carved through his brow-bone, and half of his head was bald thanks to a severe burn whose marks _still_ remained branded in his flesh. 

Overall, he was a stoic man weighed down by the burdens of many regrets, but not one to distance himself from compassion.

Eivor only wished he would’ve _stayed_ in Bjornheimr.

“What are you doing here?” The boy asked sharply. “I thought you were at the longhouse with Arngeir.”

“I _was,”_ Ulfar confirmed, “but then your father asked me to find you. He had a feeling you’d be out here, considering it’s... well...”

Eivor already knew what he was going to say. “...The anniversary of my parents’ deaths.”

Ulfar crossed his arms, letting out a sigh. “Everyone mourns in different ways, but your father is not at fault for what happened that night, Eivor. He did what he did because he loved you.”

“He died without honor.” The boy argued.

“Yes,” Ulfar conceded, “because in the end, you were more important to him than anything Valhalla could’ve offered. When you find someone you love, you will understand.”

The man gently grabbed Eivor’s hand and pushed the axe closer to his chest, holding it firmly over the boy’s heart. 

“Do not abandon him, or his memory. You wish to reclaim the honor your father lost? Then you must _fight_ for it.”

Eivor furrowed his brow. “But how? I can’t kill Kjotve. He would only send me to join my family if we fought.”

“Justice like this is not born overnight, Eivor. You must prepare. You must train. You must never lose sight of what matters. If you can manage to do that, then perhaps someday, the Nornir will bless you with a second encounter. Until then, all we can do is wait.”

The boy wasn’t satisfied. “But he needs to die _now._ He’s already killed so many people. Why not go after him before he can kill more?”

Ulfar knelt on the ground and gripped Eivor’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “I share your pain, Eivor. Believe me, I do. I want nothing more than to see Kjotve’s head on a pike after what he did to Linnea... but any attempt to kill him now would only end in disaster. We _must_ bide our time, and we must never let our grief overpower us. Do you understand?”

Eivor picked up on the man’s tone. “...You sound like you’ve done this before.”

Ulfar’s expression sank with remorse. “...I have. I betrayed many people who were close to me in the name of vengeance when I was younger, including my _own_ father. I was banished from my clan as a result, and ended up in Bjornheimr after years of wandering as a stray.” He paused for a moment. “...Trust me, the sacrifice isn’t worth it. You cannot allow yourself to fall prey to these thoughts. It will only worsen the storm.”

Eivor was silent in response, but it was clear to Ulfar that he had calmed down somewhat. A sense of heartache still lingered in the boy’s eyes, but he seemed to be relieved of his aggressiveness from before.

Ulfar stood up from the ground and brought his attention to Bjornheimr, gazing at the fortified village from a distance as the day slowly began to come to an end.

“Come,” he instructed, patting Eivor on the back. “Your father awaits.”

But the boy stayed in place. Despite Ulfar’s insistence to return home, he remained tangled in the countless thoughts that plagued his mind and continued to stare out into the ocean, seemingly getting lost in its ethereal embrace.

“...Eivor?” Ulfar said, beckoning him with a wave. “Come along, boy. The darkness is settling in.”

The child dismissed his commands and simply looked down at the axe, posing one final question before taking his leave.

“Ulfar?” Eivor asked. “If you had a second chance to save Linnea from Kjotve, would you take it?”

The man thought the answer was rather obvious. “Of course. ”

“And if Kjotve asked you lay down your arms like he did my father... would you do it?”

Ulfar fell silent for a second, playing out the scenario in his head. “...I would.”

That only seemed to confuse Eivor more. “Then what makes Valhalla so special? Why spend your life trying to earn a place at the gods’ side if you’re willing to give it up for a human?”

The man hesitated, admittedly at a loss for words. “I... I don’t know, Eivor. That is a question you’ll have to ask Ingrida. I can only tell you how I feel.”

Ulfar stepped closer to Eivor, guiding the boy away from the shoreline. “Come, little cub. We can discuss this later. Let’s get you home first.”

Eivor sighed in defeat, finally deciding to put the matter to rest for now. He didn’t quite understand the meaning behind Ulfar’s words, or why Arngeir insisted on letting more time pass before launching another assault on Kjotve’s people, but he assumed everything would fall into place eventually.

If the stories Ingrida spoke of held any merit to them, then it must’ve meant that the Nornir planned all this from the start. There must’ve been a reason as to why the gods were keeping Kjotve beyond their reach, and denying Bjornheimr any justice for now.

Perhaps it was because they were waiting for Eivor to grow up. He wasn’t much use in a fight in his current state, but with enough training, he imagined he would join his brothers and sisters on the battlefield someday. He would finally have the chance to personally go after Kjotve himself, and take him down for good.

He just prayed that the gods would allow him to deliver the killing blow.

“Alright.” Eivor said quietly. “Let’s go home.”

Ulfar gave the boy an encouraging pat on the shoulder and gently pushed him ahead, guiding him back to the village. 

“Keep your head up, _drengr._ We are not broken yet.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**13 YEARS LATER**

**BJORNHEIMR**

Light.

That was all she could see.

As Synin soared across the wintry meadows surrounding Bjornheimr’s spiked walls, she saw naught but radiant beams of light seeping through the bare trees, dotting the ground with golden blots.

A gentle breeze kissed the ebony feathers rippling on her wings as she brought herself higher in the sky, and in the whistling howl that filled her ears, she heard her owner’s voice calling out to her, beckoning her to the ground.

In one swift movement, Synin angled her body downwards and began gliding towards the lively village, leading her through an abundance of new obstacles. Everywhere around her, men and women of all ages strolled through Bjornheimr’s dirt paths, conversing amongst themselves about recent events.

They were drinking, flyting, playing dice, firing up furnaces, tickling lutes -- and in the midst of all the bustle sat the Wolf-Kissed himself, quietly spending his morning atop a snow-covered hill.

He was currently sitting on a bench with his back leaning against a boulder as he sharpened an axe, repeatedly dragging a stone along the edge of its blade. There wasn’t a care in the world occupying his thoughts at the moment, and considering the agenda for the day, the viking imagined it would be short-lived.

“Synin,” Eivor said with a smile upon noticing her in the sky. “There you are. Find something to eat?”

His companion flew closer to the ground, perching herself on a nearby shrine.

“Good.” He remarked. “You’ll need your energy for today. Apparently, there’s going to be a ‘special’ guest arriving this morning. There’s been lots of preparation involved. I have no idea who it is, though.”

Eivor stood up from the bench and slid his axe back into its handle, strolling up to Synin.

“Just promise me you’ll be on your best behavior, alright? I don’t want to see anyone getting pecked like when Leif came to visit us.”

A second voice joined the scene, diverting Eivor’s attention away from his bird.

“Eivor, who are you talking to?”

The man glanced over his shoulder, only to find himself in the company of his older sister.

“Thora.” Eivor greeted, casually walking up to her. 

Thora was a rather built woman whose flesh was decorated with many tattoos, and had the gaze of a hawk. She had a head of long dark hair that had been braided into a simple ponytail, and was dressed in a traditional outfit consisting of armor and fur.

What _really_ caught Eivor’s attention though, was the irritated expression on her face. 

He chuckled in a lighthearted manner, gesturing to her scowl. “You look happy today.”

The woman let out a sigh. “Well, I’m not. Things have been stressful beyond belief. I’ve been hunting with Eirik all morning preparing for this feast that father wants to hold, and I’ve been trying to find Randvi before King Styrbjorn arrives.”

That took Eivor by surprise. “Wait, _King Styrbjorn_ is the guest father was talking about?But the wedding is a fortnight away.”

“Father wants to give Randvi and her betrothed some time to get acquainted before the marriage takes place,” Thora explained. “He’s also hoping that our clans can become familiar with one another.”

A scoff escaped her lips. “Imagine only being ‘acquainted’ with your future husband. What a joke.”

Eivor picked up on her mood. “I take it you don’t approve of Randvi’s betrothed.”

Thora shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t like him. I don’t _know_ him. Our families are complete strangers, and yet, father expects me to entrust this man with the safety of our own _sister._ It’s preposterous.”

“Who _is_ her betrothed, anyway?”

“A man named Sigurd,” Thora answered. “According to Ulfar, he’s a man of great ambition and battle-prowess. Others might find that appealing, but in my experience, those are the ones who prove to be the most dangerous. I’m not sure I trust him just yet.”

Eivor let out a laugh. “I’m not sure you trust _anyone,_ Thora.”

“And for good reason. But... I was hoping you could do me a favor, Eivor.”

That piqued his interest. “What’s on your mind?”

Thora stepped towards him, gesturing to the village behind them. “Could you help me find Randvi? She’s supposed to join father at the docks soon, and I’m too busy helping Eirik prepare for this feast. I could really use an extra pair of hands, and I’d rather not keep King Styrbjorn waiting.”

Eivor gave her a quick nod. “Of course. I’ll start asking around.”

His sister sighed in relief. “Thank you, _bróðir._ I owe you one.” Thora turned on her heel and began making her way down the hill, only to stop in her tracks when a sudden thought crossed her mind.

“Hey, Eivor? If the opportunity arises... could you speak with Sigurd face-to-face? There’s a very small chance he’ll show his true colors around father or Randvi, and I’d sleep better at night if I knew exactly what kind of person we were dealing with.”

The man shrugged. “Why can’t _you_ talk to him?”

“Because _you’re_ the one who’s always been good at reading people. If you see nothing wrong with him, then I’ll know he can be trusted.”

Eivor decided to go along with the plan. “Very well. I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you. I trust your judgement. Let me know what you think of him once you’ve been introduced. I hope that you’ll bring me good news. Otherwise, I don’t fancy the idea of handing Randvi over to someone who could potentially harm her.”

Eivor took on a more serious tone, joining his sister as she descended down the trail.

“We wouldn’t allow it.”

Thora smirked, walking proudly alongside her sibling. “No, we wouldn’t.”


	2. The Prince

**A WHILE LATER**

**BJORNHEIMR, THE TEMPLE**

Walking underneath the white sun, Eivor worked his way around the village as he scanned the surrounding buildings, keeping an eye out for Randvi’s bright head of hair. Roughly half an hour had passed ever since Thora first approached him on the hill asking for his assistance, but he had yet to catch a glimpse of his younger sister anywhere.

According to some of the people Eivor had spoken to, Randvi was last seen heading towards the town’s temple. She was accompanying the local seeress on an “urgent matter,” and apparently hadn’t returned since. Eivor didn’t have a clue as to what Ingrida could’ve needed help with on a day like this, but nonetheless, it was the only lead he had. And so, he took it.

Pushing himself up the steep incline that led to the temple’s archway, Eivor slowly ascended a dirt path decorated with ceremonial bones and charms, causing a soft chime to rattle in his ears as they swayed gently in the wind.

His boots dug deeply into the many layers of snow blanketing over the path, and with every step he took on his short journey, a sharp _crunch_ emitted from his feet, alerting nearby hares and birds.

Up ahead, Eivor saw a majestic line of wooden statues standing proudly in front of the temple’s lake, towering over its still waters like a row of guardians. Piles of snow had gathered on their heads and shoulders as a result of the frostbitten weather, and in the bowls that lay at their feet, Eivor saw a handful of fresh offerings left by some of the locals.

The main thing that caught his attention however, was a toppled statue of Freya lying motionlessly in the snow. The base of its structure had broken somehow, and now, it was garnering the care of their seeress, as well as Randvi herself.

Eivor stopped briefly in his tracks, feeling a sense of relief. 

“ _There_ you are.” He whispered under his breath.

Approaching them from behind, Eivor hurriedly made his way to Randvi as the two women covertly bickered with each other, speaking in a hushed manner. At first, he simply assumed they were trying to figure out how to get the statue back on its feet, but once he got closer, their conversation suggested otherwise.

“....You’re not listening to me,” Ingrida insisted. “It’s a sign! We must not ignore it.”

Randvi crossed her arms in disagreement, attempting temper the seeress’ fear. “I understand that, Ingrida, but there isn’t much we can do about it now. What’s done is done.”

“You _must_ cancel the wedding,” the older woman reiterated. “The gods have made it clear that this joining will ensue nothing but chaos!”

“A _king_ is coming to our shores at _our_ invitation, Ingrida. To turn Styrbjorn away would be a grave insult to him and his clan. We have no choice but to go through with this.”

Still, the seeress was unconvinced. “An insult holds little weight in the face of death. The arrival of the Raven Clan will bring naught but misery and conflict. The gods have shown this to me.”

Eivor stepped in the middle of their altercation, trying to get a grasp of what was going on.

“Randvi,” he called out, earning a glance from the woman. “What’s going on? Why haven’t you joined father at the docks yet?”

She sighed in frustration. “I apologize for the delay, Eivor, but Ingrida is concerned about the nature of this wedding, and nothing I say seems to ease her nerves.”

Eivor turned to the seeress, curious to hear her side. “What troubles you, Ingrida? You look perturbed.”

The elderly woman scoffed. “Perturbed is an understatement, young man. Last night, the gods visited me in my dreams, and showed me visions of things to come. They were _not_ good.”

“What did you see?”

Ingrida took a moment to recall her memories. “...There was a man. He appeared human in my dream, yet carried a monstrous nature to him. His eyes burned bright with the heat of Muspelheim itself, and his hair was so red that, at first, I mistook it for fire. There was a strange mark etched into the flesh on his neck, and one of his arms had been severed clean off. Lurking behind him, I saw a white wolf whose snout was stained by the redness of his blood.”

It didn’t take long for Eivor to make the connection. “You dreamt of Tyr?”

The seeress seemed unsure. “Perhaps... but I did not get the impression that this man was a god. He seemed too earthly. Too... familiar. That’s not the part that frightens me, though. What worries me is, when I awoke, the statue of Freya had fallen to the ground, despite the fact that it was still standing mere moments ago.”

Eivor shrugged. “I fail to see what’s so alarming about that.”

Ingrida gestured to the statue. “Use your head, Eivor! Freya is the goddess of love. Her collapse -- paired with my vision -- signifies what this marriage will bring. War.”

“How could this marriage bring war? The whole purpose of this joining is to forge an alliance between the Bear and Raven Clans.”

“I’m aware. But our plans do not always match what the gods have in mind.”

Randvi tried to defuse the situation. “Have faith in our jarl, Ingrida. I know these are frightening times, but our father is simply trying to eradicate Kjotve’s people from our waters for good. We would have killed him ourselves long ago, but we alone do not have the strength necessary to do that. We _need_ Styrbjorn and his people.”

“What we _need_ is to avoid more bloodshed. We have had enough.”

The seeress sighed in annoyance, deciding to put an end to this argument. It was clear that her message wasn’t getting through to the other members of the clan, and despite what she may have believed, she couldn’t deny that Randvi had a point. 

Ingrida may have been skeptical about the outcome of this wedding, but Styrbjorn was already on his way. His entire clan was accompanying him to Bjornheimr’s shores, and there wasn’t much she could do about that now.

“...Alright, you two.” Ingrida finally said. “I can see that this is going nowhere. If your father believes this is the best way forward... then I suppose it is not my place to defy him.”

The young woman beamed at her. “Do not fear, seeress. Everything will be alright.”

“I certainly hope so. Our people have suffered enough at the hands of Kjotve and his men. I pray that this joining will put an end to that.”

Randvi nodded in agreement. “As do I.”

Eivor smirked humorously at his sister. “Well, it’s never going to happen if you don’t make haste to the docks.”

The woman chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll be on my way soon. Just...” Randvi took a breath, “...give me a moment.”

Her brother grinned. “Nervous, are we?”

Randvi gave him a friendly shove. “Yes, and you are not helping.”

Eivor smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Father wouldn’t promise you to this man if he thought he couldn’t be trusted. You know him.”

The woman remained somewhat anxious. “I know he would never do anything to put me in harm’s way. I’m just... nervous about what the future holds. What if my husband and I don’t get along? What if we’re miserable together? What if this only brews _more_ animosity between our clans?”

“All the better,” Eivor replied. “You’ll fit right in with the rest of Norway’s royalty.”

Randvi let out a laugh at that. “You certainly know how to make light of any situation, don’t you?”

Eivor leaned against a tree, crossing his arms in a jesting way. “It’s my blessing and my curse.”

Ingrida rested her hands on her hips. “More often a curse, I would say.”

Randvi rolled her eyes in a playful manner, finally deciding to return to her duties.

“Alright,” she said with a troubled sigh. “I’ll go find father at the docks now. He’s probably wondering where I am. I’ll see you and Thora at the feast this evening. Try to keep things orderly, will you?”

Eivor nodded reassuringly. “Of course.”

“Good. Father’s counting on us to make a good impression. I trust you won’t scare anyone off before the feast starts?”

“Now that, I _can’t_ promise.”

Randvi snickered in amusement and threw a casual grin at Eivor before taking her leave from the temple, following the trail of dented snow that her brother left behind. The sun was nearing the center of the sky at this point in the day, and if Eivor squinted hardly enough, he could’ve sworn he saw the miniature silhouettes of distant ship sails billowing on the horizon. 

The Raven Clan had arrived.

“Ingrida?” Eivor said, continuing his talk with the seeress. “Can I ask you something?”

The old woman took a seat on a nearby bench, placing herself in front of the statues.

“Of course, young cub. What’s on your mind?”

Eivor strolled towards Ingrida’s position, keeping his eyes nailed on Freya’s fallen figure as he put his thoughts into words.

“Do you truly think this wedding will bring more chaos to our clan?”

The seeress shook her head in uncertainty. “I cannot speak in absolutes, for I do not know what the gods are thinking. All I can tell you is that this marriage sparks a sense of worry in me... and it stems from the man in my dreams.”

Eivor sat beside Ingrida. “Is there anything I can do to tame your fear?”

A warm smile radiated on the woman’s face. “You are kind, but I suspect that this situation is now in the hands of the Nornir. If they wish to lead us into battle, then it would be pointless to cower behind our shields.”

The young man recalled a conversation he had with the seeress many years ago, bringing up one of her own quotes.

“Ingrida, do you remember what you said to me? After my parents were killed, and Arngeir took me in?”

She shook her head, staying silent in response.

“We are all bound by the threads of fate,” Eivor reminded her. “Any attempt to deviate from the path--”

“--will simply be met with what was always destined to be.” Ingrida finished. “Yes, I remember now. And it seems that I would do well to follow my own wisdom.”

The woman chuckled softly, gazing at Eivor with a motherly twinkle in her aged eyes. “You have grown into a fine young man, Eivor. It seems that your mind is as sharp as your axe. Varin would be proud of you. I know Arngeir certainly is.”

“...Thank you, seeress.”

Ingrida rose from her seat, ready to head back inside. “Well, I should return to my duties. We have a busy day ahead of us, and this statue isn’t going to stand up on its own. I’ll see if I can find my son. Perhaps he could help me.”

Eivor mirrored her actions and removed himself from the bench, offering assistance. “I can help you now, if you’d like.”

The woman raised a hand of refusal. “No, no. It’s alright. I’ve occupied enough of your time. You just focus on tending to your own family, and seeing that the Raven Clan receives the welcome they deserve. In the meantime, I will stay here, and do what I can to prepare the temple before King Styrbjorn arrives. It’s possible he will want to make an offering before the wedding.”

“Very well,” Eivor said, making his way through the temple’s arch. “I will speak with you later, then.”

“Farewell, Eivor.” Ingrida replied. “May you carry Odin’s favor.”

**~~~~~~~~~~**

**A FEW MINUTES LATER**

**THE DOCKS**

Rushing down to the harbor, Randvi weaved her way through Bjornheimr’s crowds and hurried to join her father as the Raven Clan steadily approached the docks, drawing everyone’s attention.

By now, there was a canopy of clouds hovering in the sky, slowly inching its way across the ocean’s vast length as it passed through an array of sunbeams.

Meanwhile, underneath them, an impressive collection of longships glided over the sea’s rolling waves, causing spurts of white mist to spray in their wake as they crashed into the tides.

It was an armada fit for a king, Randvi thought. Even though she had never made contact with the Raven Clan before, it was clear that they carried a strong sense of pride and honor with them, similar to the one that her _own_ clan held.

It made her wonder if, perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a difficult task to bring their people together, after all. For many days now, Randvi had spend most of her nights twisting and turning in bed with the worry of causing _more_ trouble like Ingrida suggested, but after seeing the Raven Clan face-to-face, it managed to put some of her fears to rest.

Her heart still hammered with the nervousness of meeting her future spouse, but the anxiety in her chest was no longer as debilitating as before. 

Freya willing, it would stay that way.

Finally reaching the harbor, Randvi came to a halt when she spotted Arngeir waiting by the edge of the pier, standing quietly as his fur cloak danced wildly in the breeze.

Arngeir Hallbjornson was a tall man clad in fierce armor that broadened his already stocky build, causing him to stand out from the clan like a walking giant. Most of his visage was hidden behind a grizzled beard and mane that had been twisted into multiple braids, and the parts of his face that remained uncovered were creased with years of experience.

Despite the boldness that his presence carried however, Arngeir did not wield an intimidating temperament as others might have expected. Instead, his pragmatic nature only enhanced the fatherly spirit in him, and a firm sense of nobility stood proudly in his eyes. 

A certain kindness radiated from his stern expression, but due to the plethora of burdens that came with being a jarl, there was also a rougher edge to him like thorns on a rose. 

He was no stranger to the idea of mercy, but he wasn’t able to engage with it as often as he wished.

“Father!” Randvi exclaimed, taking her position beside the man.

Arngeir turned around at the sound of her voice, slouching his shoulders in relief.

“Randvi. There you are. I thought you weren’t going to show up.”

The woman replied with a humorous response. “I wasn’t. But then Eivor found me.”

A chuckle escaped her father’s lips. “I understand if you’re hesitant to go through with this wedding, but trust me. Everything will be fine. Sigurd is a good man. I believe he will be a worthy husband.”

“He’s also a prince,” Randvi added, “which means someday I’ll be...”

“...his queen. A daunting task, indeed, but I have faith that you will live up to the challenge.” Arngeir rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Do not fear, Randvi. You are ready for this.”

“I hope so. I’m just worried about the future of our marriage. What if Sigurd and I don’t go well together? What if this turns out to be a disaster?”

Arngeir gave her a reassuring smile. “These thoughts you’re experiencing are quite normal for someone in your situation. Fear is a natural part of change, and marriage can be a life-altering event. But as I said before -- I would not have chosen Sigurd if I did not think he was suitable to be your husband. Even though this wedding is for the good of our clan, I also want to ensure that _you_ are happy as well.”

Randvi took a deep breath, attempting to conceal how much she was shaking. 

“I suppose I won’t know for sure until I meet him myself.”

“Exactly.” Arngeir paused for a moment, suddenly realizing that King Styrbjorn had reached the dock. “But enough of that. The Raven Clan is here. Keep your head high, and do your best to stay calm. The gods are watching over us.”

Turning away from his daughter, the jarl swiftly approached the opposite end of the pier with open arms as Styrbjorn stepped off the longship, eager to return to the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet.

He appeared to be a man of great stature and etiquette just based on the elegancy of his demeanor, but it was no secret to Randvi that he had seen his fair share of battles throughout the years. 

There were many faint scars hiding beneath the surface of his weathered skin, and even though Styrbjorn spent most of his time occupying a throne these days, his hands remained hardened with the callouses of a soldier, implying that the hilt of an axe once sat in his palm.

Though, as age would decree, the muscles that once sharpened his physique had softened over time, and the shaved hair sitting atop his head had been washed with silver. The lids of his eyes hung slightly low with with a tinge of fatigue, and sitting between his brows, Randvi saw the wrinkles of a serious man embedded into his skin.

“King Styrbjorn!” Arngeir called out in a convivial tone. “Welcome to Bjornheimr!”

The older man returned his smile, beaming brightly as he adjusted to the land beneath his boots.

“Arngeir Jarl!” Styrbjorn said boisterously. “Now _there’s_ a face that I haven’t seen nearly enough of.” He pulled Arngeir into a tight embrace, greeting the man with a warm hug. “You look well, my friend. It is a blessing to see you safe in times like these.”

The jarl welcomed the gesture, immediately picking up on the smell of sea salt. “And you, my lord. I trust you had a safe journey from Fornburg?”

Styrbjorn nodded, separating the hug. “We did. Njord graced us with calm waters and strong winds today. We were also lucky enough to avoid Kjotve’s men during the voyage. I’m glad to say our journey was rather uneventful. Though, I fear it may have been _too_ uneventful for my son’s liking.”

Arngeir chuckled. “A warrior’s heart beats inside his chest, just like yours.”

“Indeed,” the king joked, “and it will be the death of me someday.”

Styrbjorn diverted his gaze to the woman at Arngeir’s side, instantly realizing who she was.

“Ah, and you must be Randvi.”

The young viking bowed her head politely, admittedly unsure of how to address Styrbjorn.

“...Yes,” she answered. “I-It’s an honor to meet you, my lord.”

Styrbjorn gently took Randvi’s hand into his grasp, shaking it in an affable manner. “The honor is mine, my lady. Your father has offered nothing but praise in response to the questions I’ve asked about you. I’m certain you’ll make a fine addition to our family.”

“Thank you,” she said, slightly more relaxed. “You’re too kind.”

An extra pair of footsteps thudded on the pier’s wooden surface, causing Styrbjorn to throw a quick glance over his shoulder.

“Ah, but enough about me. Allow me to introduce you to your betrothed.” He placed a hand on his son’s back, presenting him to Randvi.

“My lady Randvi, I’d like you to meet my son. Sigurd.”

Staring silently at the person in front of her, Randvi was met with a young man clothed in noble attire and light armor, similar to the image she had in mind. His face was embellished with a handful of neatly-drawn tattoos, and in the middle of his forehead stood an unfamiliar rune resembling the shape a tree.

The strange part about Sigurd’s appearance though, was that he happened to match the exact description Ingrida described to Randvi earlier. He wasn’t missing an arm like the man in the seeress’ dream, but everything else seemed to be identical.

A certain type of ferocity enhanced the raw ardor in his icy gaze, and with the sun’s light getting trapped between the strands of his red hair, it almost looked as if his head was surrounded by a ring of fire.

He was certainly a sight to behold, even without the context of Ingrida’s vision. He cradled a peculiar flame inside the breast of his soul, and even though he appeared as human as anyone else in Bjornheimr, Randvi couldn’t help but sense something more otherworldly in his presence.

“H-Hello.” Randvi said, sounding much more nervous than she intended. “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

Surprisingly, Sigurd shared her timidness. “As am I. I’ve heard much about you, my lady.”

Styrbjorn laughed softly at his son’s quiet response. “Have no fear, Randvi. That shyness will wear off soon enough.”

Arngeir agreed with the sentiment. “The same could be said for my daughter.”

The king began making his way off the pier, growing weary of the ocean’s chilled winds. “Well, I think I’ll go help my clan settle in now. We’re planning to pitch camp in the woods outside of Bjornheimr, but I hope it won’t be a bother if some of my men need to share a roof with your people?”

Arngeir shook his head. “Not at all, my lord. Bjornheimr is open to you. We have plenty of open space in the village should your men require more shelter. You’re free to use it.”

“Thank you, my friend. Your hospitality is appreciated. In the meantime,” Styrbjorn looked at his son, “Sigurd, why don’t you stay here with Randvi? Take some time to get to know her, and the locals as well. In two weeks from now, these people will be our family.”

“Of course, father.”

Arngeir’s face lit up with a look of remembrance. “That reminds me -- my people are preparing a feast to welcome your clan. It should be ready before this evening. Your men are welcome to join us at the longhouse.”

Styrbjorn seemed pleased. “A perfect opportunity to bring our people together. I’ll be there.”

“As will I.” Sigurd promised. 

“Wonderful,” Arngeir said. “I’ll let my oldest know. Her name is Thora. She and a few others will make sure the tables are laden with food. You should introduce yourself to her when you find the opportunity, though I fear she’s not quite as sociable as Randvi. I also have a son who’d like to meet you as well. His name is Eivor.”

Styrbjorn made a mental note of that. “I shall keep that in mind. Until then, let us dig our boots into the soil here, and thank the gods for our safe arrival.”

The jarl joined his king as the two of them ventured deeper into Bjornheimr, ready to tackle the rest of the day. “And may they bless us in the days to come.”

Strolling off into the distance, Arngeir and Styrbjorn returned to their lengthy list of duties as life carried on in the village around them, causing the small crowd that had gathered at the harbor to disperse.

Meanwhile, Sigurd and Randvi stayed behind at the docks, rendered silent by an awkward lack of conversation. Neither of them really knew what to do with themselves from here on out, but in spite of that, the young woman had to admit that she was feeling far more relieved than before.

“So,” Randvi started, “I’m curious. Am I what you expected?”

Sigurd turned his head towards the young woman as he examined her, revealing a strange mark on the side of his neck. 

“Yes, actually. Though, you _are_ a bittaller than I pictured.” An inquisitive expression spread across his face. “...What about me? Did you think I would look like this?”

“No,” Randvi answered honestly. “Not at all. D-Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not disappointed.”

Sigurd chuckled lightly. “Glad to hear it. I must admit -- I was somewhat nervous before coming here. I had no idea what I would be walking into or what kind of person you would be. So far though, I’m pleasantly surprised.”

The woman found some comfort in his words. “I’m relieved. These past few days have been filled to the brim with stress. It’s good to finally set things in motion.”

“Agreed.”

Randvi gestured to the other areas of the village, beckoning Sigurd to follow her. “Would you... like me to show you around before the feast starts? Bjornheimr has many places to see. I could also introduce you to my siblings, if you like.”

The man smiled cordially. “Of course.”

“Great. Thora should be at the longhouse, but... I’m not sure where Eivor is right now. He was at the temple the last time I saw him, but if we can’t find him, I’m certain he’ll show up at the feast. He’d never miss the opportunity to get a fresh cup of mead.”

Sigurd smirked in amusement. “A man after my own heart.”

Randvi returned the jest. “You might change your mind once you meet him, but I digress. Shall we?”

“Lead on.”

Finally removing himself from the ocean’s vicinity after a long day of traveling, Sigurd stuck to Randvi’s side as she led him away from the bustling harbor, enthusiastic to spend more time with her betrothed.

The two of them had only known each other for a few moments, and yet, Randvi got the impression that Sigurd was far gentler than his exterior suggested him to be. His appearance resembled that of a war-weathered vikingr who knew only stoicism, but his personality seemed to stem from a heart of honor and compassion.

The one thing about him that concerned Randvi so far was how accurate Ingrida’s vision had proven to be. Nothing about Sigurd gave off the impression that he harbored any malicious intent, but that didn’t stop the young woman from wondering if the seeress’ instincts were correct. 

The timing of Freya’s collapse struck Randvi as somewhat odd now that she thought about it, and the fact that Ingrida dreamt about the god of war beforehand did nothing to ease her nerves. 

She had to admit that she was beginning to understand the old woman’s fears surrounding this wedding, but alas, it was too late to back out of it now.

And so, with a quick change of the subject, Randvi brushed off her worries for the time being and simply focused on getting to know her betrothed. She was just as clueless as Ingrida when it came to the events of the near-future, but she figured it would be pointless fretting about it now.

The fires of this alliance were already being stoked, after all, and there was little she could do to snuff it out. She may as well have just drifted off with the waves, and allowed the tides of fate to do their job.


End file.
